


Colours

by Your_sincere_science_student



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25556227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_sincere_science_student/pseuds/Your_sincere_science_student
Summary: There are colours.And he lives in black and white.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Loki & Avengers Team, Loki & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Kudos: 24





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a 'here goes nothing', I want another Spider-man movie because I miss Peter so much and school is such a mess. I had things to do, and responsibilities to heave, but instead I wrote this at one a.m. and hopefully I'll complete it. It won't be too long. Loads of love, thank you for reading. Let's all pretend Endgame didn't happen :'''')

Peter thinks in colors. He always has, even before he was taught how they were spelt, and what they were named. The soothing tones were colors that brought peace, tranquility. The hues that were harsh, they pinched his heart and they pained his eyes. The darker ones were something Peter hardly understood, he never categorised them. He sits here now, in the midst of black— a whirlwind of all colors together, in the end, nothing. Dark. Only darkness. He thinks he’s finally understood what the dark colors meant.

Peter thought loss was white. It was what engulfed you, sometimes smothered you, and then it was what gave you light. Loss was white until a few days ago. Its not anymore, it’s like a car turned his corner out of nowhere and splashed the dirty water on his definition of loss. He was going to jump in the puddle, play, have fun, bring out the child in him, nurture it. 

Before he could, the car came, it tainted him too. He’ll never be a child again.

He once read in a book, the things you lose have a way of coming back to you in the end, maybe not always in the way you expected it to. He’s found justice in it, he lays in it at all times, his life is a cycle of things he’s lost and found.

He lost his parents, he found them in his Uncle and Aunt. He lost his first ever crush, he found it again, buried deep in a tentative friendship. He lost his uncle, and he found him in the contentment he felt each time he saved a life, saved something from getting lost too. He sits here now, the clouds rumble above him, there’s a hand intertwined with his, but he pulls his own away, he swallows.

He’s sitting in the front row, as he should be, but he feels faint. He cannot see, it’s a blur, everything is. The sounds, the colors, the hand that was intertwined with his a few seconds ago.

He thinks loss must be black. So dark. Dark and dark and unending. And so hollow, like an abyss, and it must swallow everything in its wake. It must swallow him whole.

His hands are clenched in his lap, he sits uncomfortably in the chair. The priest is saying a prayer. Peter has nothing to say. He didn’t have anything to say when he was called at the altar. He will not have anything to say all his life. 

While Happy says a few words, filling for Peter, standing tall at the altar, looking defeated and weighed, Peter wonders how this will come back to him. 

He wonders how he’ll find his aunt back, now that he’s lost her too. 

Loss must be so dark, and so dense. So numbing. 

The funeral is a blurred memory, and it’s tainted too. He remembers only pieces of it, lying awake in his room in the compound, he tries to put the pieces together, but they are too little to make a whole. The funeral was held on a Saturday. Aunt May laid in the casket, and she didn’t look as pretty as she used to. There were tears in his eyes, and none had fallen. If he lost them too, what will he have to remember her from? He has kept them in, for they carry her memories. They carry her smile, her soft caress, they carry her motherly embrace, the times she burnt the breakfast, the lunch and the dinner, the late night shifts and tired eyes, the sandwiches she made, ‘eat this today, I’ll order pizza tomorrow’. These unshed tears, they carry the love she held in her eyes.

It was only for him, all for him. The love, the worry, the frustrating arguments. They were all for him. 

And now she’s gone. 

And he has nothing.

There are no colors.

Lying here, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, he can’t believe he has lost them too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Do tell me how you liked it in the comments, and how do you think this will go
> 
> Leave kudos if you liked it, it will make my dooming day 
> 
> All the love


End file.
